


Bright Nights and City Lights

by zerodaysdone



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Bars and Pubs, F/F, First Meetings, Friends to Lovers, Starfleet Academy AU, it's lit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-08
Updated: 2016-04-17
Packaged: 2018-05-31 23:18:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6491455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zerodaysdone/pseuds/zerodaysdone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In some universe, on some Earth, Christine and Nyota meet at a bar. Oh, and they're Starfleet Academy students. And their friends are sort of assholes.</p><p>AKA the vaguely hipster AU no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Closing Time

**Author's Note:**

> So this is technically just the first chapter and I do have one or two more planned, but if I'm lazy it might just turn into a one shot.  
> The whole premise is that the whole crew are all Academy students at the same time and they're really gay. It's thematically (or something) a bit of a fusion of TOS and the reboot, but the characters are all from the Original Series. I might include Gaila later if I keep writing this.  
> Please excuse all mixups and what not.

Traffic whispering overhead.  


Cold, heavy, city air.  


The play of neon advertisements against polished windows.  


Clear skies.  


A full moon overhead.  


The smell of oil and cigarette smoke stuck to the city like a dirty echo of the past, almost as if to spite the present. Gaggles of chattering students hung around the street corners. Some made their way down the promenade, marveling at the fairy-like quality of the moving headlights far above. Others meandered from booth to booth of small-time merchants, mostly aliens, hovering over their wares. Each stall was a beacon in the night. It was late enough that most of the items had been sold out, and the sellers looked more bored than anything. They'd be closing soon, but not for another hour at the least. Some had begun quietly advertising less legal trinkets for sale, growing bolder with the cover of night and dwindle of traffic. It quite visibly wasn't the best part of the city, wasn't the worst either. Close enough to the Starfleet Academy to be considered dreaded 'student territory', but far away from the main swing of things to start collecting trash and shady personages with shadier wares.  


It was good for business. And drinking.  


Christine Chapel made her way through all of this, heels clicking distinctly along the pavement. Eyes down, hands in her pockets, and scarf wound tight around her neck, she walked briskly, with not a glance spared for the stalls. She went past the students, past the booths. A sign proclaiming simply “HAPPY” buzzed neon pink, flickering in the dark. The latter half of the sign had died or fallen off or been stolen (with students, it's hard to tell), and gave the whole place a bit of a decrepit, but homey, look.  


It was there that Christine stopped, the light from the sign tinted her hair sunset tones. She looked up, almost automatically, blinking once or twice in recognition, then crossed the street.  


On the other side was a softly glowing outline of a door. Outside stood a few people, possibly students, passing some sort of cigarette around and looking cautiously over their shoulders. They stopped smoking when Christine walked by, hiding the stick under their hands (rather unsuccessfully, but she wasn't about to tell them that).  


She barreled into the door, pushing it open with the slight dinging of a bell. Immediately, the warmth of the bar rushed at her, falling on her like thick blanket or a very drunk friend. She walked straight to the bar, dropping her coat on the back of her chair and shoving the scarf in one of its pockets. Next to her, a pale, brown-haired man seemed to be getting deeply and intimately familiar with the bottom of his glass. A youngster with a bad haircut and a guitar was crooning something softly, the music mingling with the background noise of the bar. Not surprisingly, it wasn't too busy of an evening, so the bartender spotted her pretty quickly, approaching with a wide smile that was at least eighty percent fake.  


“Hey, there. What can I get you?”  


“Uh, gin and tonic, please.”  


“Coming right up.”  


“Thanks.”  


Christine slid the credits over the counter before the drink even got to her, tipping generously and earning an appreciative but surprised glance in return.  


“Not your first time here?”  


“Is it yours?”  


Finally, her neighbor tore his gaze away from his drink and stared at her.  


“ _Chapel_?!” he managed.  


She snorted. “McCoy. Took you long enough.”  


“Your... your hair.”  


“Yeah, I know, the wonders of modern cosmetics. Maybe an old sawbones like you wouldn't know, but-”  


“Its white.”  


“And it was a bitch to get that shade, let me tell you.”  


“You look a bit like a snowman- No, not snowman, that snowmaiden figure in Slavic myth, the one the Russian kid was blabbering on about last New Years?”  


Christine grinned sharply. “If it keeps the men away.”  


The man shook his head, blue eyes twinkling. “Wait 'till I tell M'Benga. Christ. I barely recognized you!”  


Christine laughed.  


The bartender looked between them.  


“That's Chapel?” he said, looking almost shocked.  


The woman raised a delicate eyebrow.  


McCoy hit himself on the forehead. “Right, right, you two haven't met. Chapel, that's Jim Kirk. Jimmy-boy, this here is Christine Chapel.”  


The bartender grinned crookedly. He was a relatively small man, fit but compact, almost dwarfed by the bar. He seemed to have a golden glow about him, or maybe that was just the lighting and atmosphere. Everything seemed brighter when you had a drink and friend near. “Bones here kept saying he had a drinking buddy, a lovely lady-”  


“Lies and slander,” Christine said, taking a drink. “We share an affliction.”  


Bones clinked his glass, now magically full, against hers. “Here's to absent wives and husbands, may the dogs eat 'em all!”  


Christine laughed. “I'll drink to that!”  


“What wouldn't you drink to,” said Bones, elbowing Chapel in the side. She nudged him back just a little harder.  


“Well, the more you drink, the more I get paid,” said Kirk cheerfully. “So by all means, descend into alcoholism.”  


Bones made a rude gesture.  


“So, how do you two know each other?” asked Christine.  


Kirk put his hand on his chest, faking a wounded expression. “He's never told you? I'm his new roommate.”  


“The 'stack of books with legs whose gonna die before he's thirty,' that roommate?”  


“Lies and slander,” said Kirk dutifully. “I'm at least two stacks of books.”  


“And the bartending?”  


“Well, homework doesn't pay the bills, and we can't all have arrangements with Starfleet Medical like you two.”  


“Guilty as charged,” said Bones.  


“Paying the bills aside,” said Christine, “That can't be the only reason you called me out here on a Wednesday. You, McCoy, definitely have class tomorrow. In the morning. With me. So what's the deal?”  


“Jimmy needs emotional support.”  


“So why am I here? It's Wednesday. It's Open Mic Night. I never come out on Open Mic Night.”  


“I need emotional support giving emotional support.”  


“...Why.”  


“The boy's in _love_ , Christine. With big damn heart-eyes and birdies flying around his head.”  


“Oh, god. Poor thing. Here's to his soul.”  


A clink of glasses.  


“You're talking like I'm not here.”  


“You're in love,” said Christine, “You don't get an opinion.”  


“Here here!” Bones crowed.  


The conversation devolved pretty quickly from there, turning into good-natured ribbing. Kirk was a good egg, on the Command Track in the Academy, younger than Bones (then again who wasn’t), roughly the same age as Chapel, and with a definite passion for the work shining out from behind his shy demeanor (which in itself was a huge step away from his work persona). McCoy liked him and Christine found herself growing fonder of him by the minute. But no matter their feeling of kinship, it was a definite surprise when the blond man fell silent and his grip on the drink he was pouring tightened.  


Bones raised an eyebrow at Christine and she raised one right back. Then, almost in unison, they turned around to see what it was that had shocked Kirk so.  


The boy that had been playing away had finally left the stage (to the slightly exaggerated relief of many a patron) and had been replaced by two humanoids with a slightly more sophisticated air to them, one tall and one considerably shorter. The tall one, Christine belatedly realized, was a Vulcan. The yellow bar lights only served to increase the greenish tinge of his pale skin, and if that and the ears hadn’t been a dead giveaway, the perfectly shaped bowl cut was definitely a hint. Surprisingly, he wore a pair of glasses, and was dressed in human clothing: a simple white shirt and black pants and shoes. His companion was decidedly human, short but not stout, with an elegant twist to her movements and beautifully smooth, dark, skin. Her hair was piled intricately atop her head and Christine could see the the crisp edges of her eyeliner even from her seat. She wore a tight black dress to complement the Vulcan’s sleek attire, and green hoop earrings.  


The Vulcan took out a lyre of distinctly alien make and said something indiscernible, causing the woman to laugh right into the ancient microphone. The sound was completely bewitching, low and warm, spreading a hush over the entire bar. Seeming to realize the effect she’d had, the woman grinned and gave a look around the bar.  


“Hey there, strangers” she said. “I don’t know what you’re doing out here on a Wednesday, but it’s Open Mic Night, so you have us to deal with. I’m Uhura, and this here wonder with the Vulcan lyre is Spock. Yes, he’s a Vulcan. No, he’s not accepting phone numbers. Now, I trust we won’t disappoint.”  


And with that, Spock started weaving a gentle melody on the lyre. In a few moments, Uhura joined in.  


If her laugh had been bewitching, her singing had a siren-like quality to it. Heads lifted. Conversation stopped. Even Bones put his glass down for a second. The song was one vaguely familiar to Christine, perhaps something she’d heard on the radio, perhaps a more obscure classic, either way it had been redone to fit the singer and the player beautifully.  


When the first chorus ended, the hush slowly fell away from the bar and the chatter came back, some of the old, casual, atmosphere regained.  


Christine, however, was unable to tear her eyes away. Uhura swayed gently, using delicate arm and hand gestures to help the song along, giving a performance that belonged on a theater stage, not in the corner of a bar. Her eyes glinted as she scanned the bar, taking in the scene. Briefly, she met Chapel's gaze and winked. Christine felt the heat rising in her cheeks and turned back to her drink.  


“You ok there?” asked McCoy.  


“Yeah. Sure,” she said, and noticing that her glass was once again full, downed it.  


“I'm better now,” said Kirk, just as the Vulcan added his voice to the song.  


“Spock's the one he has a crush on,” said McCoy. “Apparently they've been here every week since the semester started.”  


“Come on, Bones,” said Kirk, almost whining. “Crush sounds so juvenile.”  


“You sound so juvenile.”  


“Aw, Bones, throw me a bone here. You know, them, right?”  


Chapel stared at Bones. “You know them?”  


The man sighed. “I know Scotty who knows Uhura, the singer, who knows Spock.”  


“So you know Uhura?”  


McCoy groaned. “Christ on a stick, not you, too. You heard the lady, the hobgoblin's not taking phone numbers.”  


Christine rolled her eyes and swiveled her stool around to give her full attention to the duo on the stage.  


McCoy followed her line of sight of sight and quite suddenly chuckled, shaking his head.  


“Look, Chapel,” said Kirk, “You seem nice, but if there's a conflict of interests-”  


“You are juvenile,” Christine said, swinging one long leg over the other and tipping her head to the side to better follow the singer's movements.  


Kirk hadn't shut up. “-we could play rock, paper, scissors.”  


“You're digging yourself a deeper and deeper hole every time you open your mouth,” said McCoy, not unkindly. “Just wait until they're done, they'll come over to the bar for a drink.”  


“How do you know?”  


“You said they always do.”  


“The kid didn't come over for a drink.”  


“The kid didn't look old enough to legally drink.”  


Chapel tuned them out, giving the stage her full attention. The two men didn't seem to notice. On the stage, the song ended and, without a comment from the duo, shifted into something that was probably original. They played out four more songs.  


Uhura definitely had the stage presence to be singing somewhere, anywhere, else. Spock, the Vulcan, had an attractive way about him, but it paled against the full force of the woman's charm.  


Eventually, they finished their set to what was thunderous applause for a bar so small.  


“Thank you!” called Uhura. “We're here every Wednesday, and some other days, too, though most of the time we're drinking!”  


Somehow, they managed to rather discreetly exit the stage and were immediately replaced by some sort of only vaguely humanoid alien with an electric ukelele. Uhura grabbed their jackets (both leather, and in all appearances matching), the Vulcan his lyre case, and they both headed over to the bar, depositing their things just to the right of Bones.  


“Two glasses of water and a glass of wine, please,” said the singer, draping herself over the bar.  


Next to her, the Vulcan was gently sliding his lyre into its case.  


“Any specific wine?” asked Kirk, eying the Vulcan.  


“Oh, something cheep and red.”  


“Coming right up.”  


As Kirk turned his back, McCoy turned to face Uhura.  


“Nice job up there,” he said.  


“Thanks,” said Uhura, flashing pearly teeth in a wide grin.  


“I've seen you sing before, but not with him. You two work well together.”  


“You do look awfully familiar,” said Uhura, squinting down at him.  


McCoy gave her a large smile. “Montgomery Scott's birthday? You might better remember me with a lampshade on my head, chugging a bottle of bourbon, and screaming about medieval medicine.”  


This made the singer laugh. Christine felt her heart catch in her chest.  


“That was quite a scene,” Uhura mused, finally settling down in her chair. “What's your name again?”  


“Leonard, Leonard McCoy.” Bones held out his hand.  


“Nyota Uhura, and he's Spock,” the woman said, taking his hand and shaking it firmly. “Who're your friends?”  


“This one over here is Christine Chapel,” said McCoy, pointing behind him. “And the one behind the bar's James Kirk.”  


Christine waved, then seeing that the Vulcan was watching, shifted her fingers into a passing Vulcan salute.  


Spock blinked, minutely taken aback, then returned the motion.  


Jim rejoined them, depositing the drinks on the table.  


“What're we doing?”  


“Well, Christine here was showing off the results of a month and a half of Vulcan language studies,” said McCoy.  


“Oh. And that's sign's the...Vulcan Salute, right?”  


“The _ta'al_ ,” said Spock quietly. “It is the traditional greeting among my people, generally accompanied by an equally traditional exchange of words.”  


“And that would be?” asked McCoy.  


“The Standard translation would be 'Live long and prosper,'” said Chapel.  


“ _Dif tor heh smusma_ ,” said Uhura, smiling, without even a trace of an accent.  


Christine smiled back. “You've taken the class, too?”  


“I'm on my third semester of it. That's how I met Spock. He's a tutor.”  


“That's-”  


“You're Academy students?” asked Kirk, perking up.  


“Yes,” said Spock, staring at the bartender.  


“What a coincidence!” said Bones, almost sarcastically.  


“You are mistaken,” said Spock, eyeing Bones. “This establishment is frequented almost entirely by students, from one institution or another. Approximately fifty three percent of those attending are likely to be with the Starfleet Academy.”  


“It's called sarcasm.”  


“It was inaccurate.”  


Uhura looked between the two of them, then picked up her coat and her wine and moved to sit next to Chapel.  


“Your McCoy,” she said. “Is he always like this?”  


“Only on days ending with a 'Y,'” Chapel confessed. “And he's not mine, stars be thanked”  


Uhura snorted. To the right of them, Kirk was trying his best to be charming.  


“Christine, right?” she said.  


Chapel nodded.  


“It's a shame we haven't met before.”  


“I'm in medical. We don't meet much of anyone there.”  


“Unless you're McCoy.”  


“Bones is an anomaly and an abomination.”  


“Bones?”  


“Oh, sorry. It's like sawbones, 'cause he's an old country doctor? Well, he's older and from the South, so it just clicked in.”  


“That would explain a lot. I always imagined Scotty was friends with some sort of skeleton, or that he was taking something a little stronger than scotch.”  


“You're in engineering, too?”  


Uhura smiled crookedly. “You got me there.”  


“It's almost a shame. Your voice is heavenly.”  


This earned her another laugh. “Well, I'm aiming for Communications Officer, so don't you worry. No one will be deprived of by dulcet tones.”  


“That's truly a blessing unto the Federation and all the races that it meets.”  


Uhura quickly raised her glass to her lips, but the smile never left her face.  


“So you're taking Vulcan?” she asked when she finally resurfaced, drink almost gone.  


“It fills my non-Standard language requirement and I like it. It's interesting.”  


“It is! The structure of it, the precision...”  


“I'm guessing you're a fan of Vulcans?”  


“I'm a fan of languages. Like I said, it's my third semester. I took some Klingon and Romulan, too, but I like Vulcan the best.”  


“How do you find time to breathe?”  


“We all make mistakes freshman year. That was mine.”  


“Not anymore, I take it?”  


“I'm out on a Wednesday at 2300. Draw your own conclusions.”  


Chapel startled, checking her watch. “Shit. It's that late?”  


“Got a class tomorrow?”  


“At 7:30, no less.”  


“You live in the dorms?”  


“Yeah.”  


“Want me to walk you?”  


Christine tucked her hair behind her ear. “That would be lovely.”  


Uhura nodded, standing up and grabbing her jacket. “Spock! We're heading out.”  


The Vulcan nodded.  


“Aw, Chapel, turning in early?” teased Bones.  


“My class starts before you even wake up, you old man. Have mercy.”  


“He'll be so merciful, he'll settle your tab,” said Kirk, grinning.  


“Aw, nuts,” said Uhura suddenly. “I forgot to pay you.”  


“I paid already,” said Spock simply. “Take Christine home.”  


“Thanks. I owe you one.”  


“That is unnecessary.”  


Christine shrugged her massive coat on and arranged her hand in the ta'al. “Live long and prosper.”  


“Peace and long life,” said Spock in turn, the corner of his mouth quirking up minutely.  


The two women left, slipping out the door and into the cold, the bell dinging them farewell.  


Christine breathed out, a puff of steam escaping from her lips, and got her scarf out.  


Across from them, “HAPPY” flickered its comforting neon pink.  


“Should we have left those three alone?” wondered Uhura aloud.  


“I doubt they'll kill themselves,” said Chapel. “And none of them have morning classes, I think. Unless Spock...?”  


“He could pass his classes blindfolded, with both hands tied behind his back.”  


Christine raised an eyebrow. “Kinky.”  


Uhura bent over laughing. “I forgot you actually know something about Vulcans. People usually miss that joke.”  


“Whatever you're into, I'm not one to judge.”  


“Oh, I'm into a lot of things, just not with Spock.”  


Christine felt her cheeks flush.  


“Cold night?” Uhura said cheekily.  


“Getting warmer.”  


Two pairs of heels clicked in unison down the pavement. Quiet talk mingled with the buzz of traffic. The full moon shone brightly, and the pink sign seemed to almost wave them goodbye in the darkness.  


That night, Christine fell asleep with the memory of Uhura's voice, her lilting laugh, and her bright eyes fresh in her mind. (And her number saved in her cellphone under 'Nyota'.)


	2. Come Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even twenty four hours after the girls meet, Uhura comes crashing into Christine's life and job with a very intoxicated Spock and then has to run. It turns out only slightly better than expected. Bones and Kirk make a brief appearance at the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The girls are going to spend some quality time together soon, I swear. The first couple of chapters are just set up for stuff. World-wise I just shit everything up. It's mostly just TOS world plus cellphones and whatever else I decide i want to stick in there tbh.   
> Special thanks to @spockfucker for helping with the beta-ing. Seriously god bless.

Christine sat alone in the Academy's health clinic, nursing thirty percent of a headache and attempting to finish some homework. It was an old room, made new only by various pieces of medical tech. The walls had honest-to-god wallpaper on them (pinstriped, pastel blue) and there was even an analog clock hanging along one of them. It made little ticking sounds as one of the hands moved steadily around, measuring out the seconds. No one really knew how such an antique ended up in the health clinic of all places, but no one had ever made any effort to move it.

All of her coworkers had gone out for lunch, leaving Christine alone with her thoughts and the tacky “get well” posters. The kittens stared at her imploringly, and a little judgmentally. She rubbed her forehead and took a few moments to stare out the window. Her one saving grace was that as a student, she didn't have to wear the medstaff uniforms, which were notoriously itchy. Silver sweater dresses were a definite, if questionable, step up.

Her shift was almost over, and if no one came in for another forty minutes and her replacement showed up on time, she'd be able to go home, relax, and figure out what to message Nyota.

“ _Two patients are on their way. Estimated arrival time, three minutes,_ ” intoned a pleasantly robotic voice over the intercom.

What was it they used to say? There is no God.

Christine quickly shoved her school PADD in her bag, got out the basic set of hypos, and put on her best customer service smile.

Just as she finished, the door slid open and in fell a familiar, lanky, shape, supported heavily by-

Christine stared for a second. “Nyota? Spock?!”

“Christine?!” Uhura exclaimed.

The were both in student silvers, the color of choice that year, but Spock's looked significantly more beat up. As did the rest of him.

The Vulcan grinned humorlessly, baring his teeth more than anything. They were stained green. Blood. More of it was coming out of his nose and a gash in his forehead.

It only took a second (a second too long and way too unprofessional; someone could be dead by now, damn it) for Christine's training to kick in. Very quickly, and making sure not to touch Spock's skin, she helped Uhura get him onto the medical bed.

Immediately, the instruments above it went haywire before finally settling to no less shocking indications.

Nyota sucked in a deep breath.

Chapel blinked rapidly.

“Half,” said Spock. “Let me-”

“Don't move,” Christine said, grabbed one of the clinic's data PADDs and a tricorder. Quickly, she pulled up Spock's file. Her eyes darted between the measurements and the notes as she altered the tricorder settings.

“The good news is that he doesn't have a concussion,” she said eventually, taking one final scan. “It looks worse than it is. Nothing a regenerator can't fix, but I'd recommend staying here for about an hour afterwards, anyways.”

“Oh, thank the stars,” said Uhura. “What's the bad news?”

Christine got an old-fashioned light-pen out and clicked it on. “He might be intoxicated. Look straight ahead.”

The Vulcan's eyes glazed over.

“Spock, are you on anything?” Chapel asked finally, turning to grab the regenerator.

“Chocolate,” was the answer. “And vodka.”

Christine raised a delicate eyebrow, taking great care not to halt her movements. “I didn't know Vulcan's did daydrinking.”

“I am only half-Vulcan. The impurities show.”

Christine looked up at Uhura. There was a definite bitterness in Spock's tone

Uhura shrugged. “It's, uh, personal. There's... someone else that-”

“Is that the same someone that hit him in the face?”

“No,” said Spock. “That was an entirely different, plain asshole, someone.”

“Some kid slammed a really clunky PADD in his face. Then he called me and I buzzed in here. I didn't know he was drunk until right before we got here.”

“I turned to her and said, 'I am drunk,'” said Spock in a monotone. “I believe it is what you children call 'comic relief.'”

“Spock, we're the same age.”

The Vulcan rolled his eyes.

Christine sighed. “I'm going to count to three and then start the regeneration. One... two... three.”

Spock and Nyota fell silent as the clinic filled with a low buzz. Under the glow of the instrument, skin knit together and bleeding stopped. After a minute or so, Christine turned it off and threw a box of wet-wipes at Spock. Saying he caught it in any capacity would be a stretch. It dropped to the ground without even touching his fingers

“Wipe the blood away and toss the napkin afterward,” she said, picking the wipes up. “I'd give you something to sober you up quicker, but I don't know how it would react with your system and there's nothing on file. You're staying here until you're sober enough to move around on your own, unless Nyota can take you home...?”

Uhura checked the clock and winced. “I have a test across campus in fifteen minutes. I'm really sorry, but-”

“It's alright,” said Christine, taking the wet wipes back. “My shift's only another half hour. I can take him someplace afterward. ”

“I am perfectly capable of taking myself.”

“You weren't even capable of catching a box of wipes,” Christine said dryly.

“It was going very fast.”

“Yes, now imagine how fast public transportation goes.”

Spock seemed to really think it over. “Very fast.”

Uhura groaned and checked the clock again. “I gotta run but, listen,” she tugged Christine’s sleeve, moving them away from Spock. Her voice fell low. “I'm so sorry, we just met and now you're taking care of my drunk friend and he's never done this in the two years I-”

The corner of Christine's mouth quirked up. “It's alright, really. You apparently witnessed Bone's famous Lampshade and Leeches number, I think we're even.”

Relief flooded Uhura's whole frame. She leaned in and gave Christine a quick peck on the cheek.

“I owe you a coffee!” she called, practically running out the door.

Christine put her hand to her cheek, feeling a blush rise in her face.

For a few moments, it seemed to her that time stopped. The insistent ticking of the clock, however, was heavy proof against it.

“She is very fond of you,” said Spock.

“I think I'm pretty fond of her, too,” said Christine quietly.

“I cannot feel my fingers.”

“Holy shit.”

“No. I apologize. I simply forgot they existed.”

“I can't tell which one's worse.”

“I'm getting divorced.”

“...What.”

Chapel turned around. Spock was staring at her, or maybe through her. In his current state, it was hard to tell.

“Last night, McCoy said you and he were divorced. What's that like.”

Christine sighed, looking down at the Vulcan. He was wearing the same clothes as he had been yesterday, and had somehow managed to fold his long frame up onto the bed. She walked over and very carefully sat down next to him.

“Don't tell Uhura this.”

“I am inebriated and cannot promise anything in this state.”

“Technically, I'm a widow.”

“Oh.”

Christine watched Spock out of the corner of her eye. Someone who got wasted during the day for the first time in two years because of a divorce at least deserved at least the basics.

“I was younger, my husband- fiancé, actually- was older. On his first mission with Starfleet, he disappeared. So, I dropped my promising medical career and joined Starfleet to find him. I met Bones, who was divorced, and after a lot of drinking I decided that chasing dead men wouldn't solve my problems. But, I stayed on because I realized I liked it.”

“Drinking. Does it help?”

“Yes. Well. No. I wouldn't recommend it,” she looked down at her hands and the place where her engagement ring tan hadn't quite faded. “What's your story?”

“We're bondmates, Vulcan children- No. We do not tell outsiders.”

“I get it. It's alright.”

“She wants to break the mental link. It's been there most of our lives. She doesn't want it. Or me.”

What happened to 'we do not tell outsiders?'

“Do you want her?”

“I do not know. But a bond is a bond. At least I know what I'm worth now.”

“Christ, you're at that stage of drunk.”

“It is not precisely drunk-”

“Oh, call a spade a spade.”

“Christine, I see no gardening implements-”

“You know perfectly well what I mean.”

“...Yes.”

The door slid open and in slipped one of the other clinic workers, an Andorian whose name Christine could never remember. Without a word, they nodded at each other. Christine stood up, grabbed her bag, and turned back to Spock.

“Need a hand?”

“If that's a euphemism-”

“No one is ever going to believe what a massive dick you are. Let's go.”

The Andorian watched them with raised eyebrows.

***

It took half an hour for Spock to remember where it was he slept at night, by which point he'd sobered up significantly. They'd gone to the Academy dorms, then from there down the vendor's road from last night, and had finally stopped a few meters away from the “HAPPY” sign, now dark.

“I have my own apartment.”

“Hallelujah. What's the address?”

“Christine. Why am I holding...cotton candy?”

“You really really wanted it.”

“If I owe you anything-”

“You owe me your life and your dignity. Let's just get you home.”

“My dignity?”

“Half of the Academy now thinks you got your wisdom teeth removed.”

“Christine!”

“It was a _jest._ ”

“Vulcans do not jest.”

“I'm no Vulcan.”

“Indeed.”

Twenty more minutes passed until they reached the apartment complex, a small building hidden away between skyscrapers. If Christine's memory served her right, it was about equal walking distance from the Academy and the bar they were at yesterday. Something about the chipping pink paint of the building made it look awfully familiar. It was only when they'd gotten inside (miraculously, Spock had his key card on him) and onto the elevator that it hit her.

“Oh, hey,” Christine said suddenly. “Bones and Jim live one floor up. Right above you, actually.”

Spock turned to stare at her. Seeing him drunk had really helped with reading his facial expressions. There was a great deal more of them than she'd previously thought.

“No, really,” she said. “Why would I joke about that? You're in 313, they're in 413.”

Just as the elevator dinged, her phone buzzed in her pocket.

She fumbled for it as Spock dropped his keycard and had to sit all the way down to get it.

_Nyota (now): Finished exam had to talk to prof will be @ spoks in 10 how is he_

“You ok there?” asked Chapel as she started talking

“Affirmative.”

_You (now): were almost at his apartment. he just dropped his key card :(_

_Nyota (now): Is he ok?????????_

_You (now): yea hes ok just still drunk, maybe hungover. he gorgot where he lived._

_You (now): *forgot_

_Nyota (now): !! I'll be right there_

_You (now): see u then_

Looking up, she saw that Spock had managed to get himself off of the ground and down to his door, where he was now staring speculatively at the trashcan at the very end of the hall.

“As a medical professional in training, I suggest you throw up in your own apartment.”

“How is Nyota?”

“She'll be here in ten minutes. How'd you know it was Nyota?”

“Your eyes changed.”

Christine chose to ignore that. “Do you have a roommate?”

“No,” said Spock, finally sliding his keycard in. “That would defeat the purpose of not living in the Academy dormitory.”

The door hissed open to reveal a little apartment. There was a little kitchen to the right of the door, consisting of a replicator, oven, cutting board, refrigerator, a couple of drawers and cabinets, and a sink. It was separated from the rest of the living space by a counter. To the entrance's left was the living room itself. A Vulcan tapestry hung on one wall, with its flowing elaborate script. On the other was a set of shelves filled to the brim with old books, a high-tech holoscreen on the wall next to it. There were two other doors, one open. The furniture was all rather minimalistic, if artistically so. It was saved from Bauhaus almost by sheer accident, a play of colors here, an artifact there. There was a couch, an armchair (both in what looked like a cross between crumpled silk and light blue lame) and a small table with two chairs. The rug on the floor echoed the yellows and purples of the tapestry. Beyond it all were two doors, presumably to the apartment's bedrooms.

Spock very carefully and almost ceremoniously took off his shoes, tossed his keycard on the counter, then trudged over and fell onto the couch. After a second of thought, Chapel followed suit, but deposited herself and her bags neatly onto the arm chair.

“Nice digs,” said Chapel.

“Your outdated colloquialism implies that you are being insincere.”

“No, it just. It all looks very expensive. The books...”

“My father is an ambassador and my mother is a renowned scientist,” said Spock. “That cannot be new information to you.”

It wasn't, but all the little details took a few seconds to click into place.

Seeing the expression on her face, Spock sighed, tumbled off of the couch in what might have been an accident, and said, “I need to meditate.”

“Don't let me distract you.”

“Christine, you have done more than enough today. You may leave if you so choose.”

“I'd rather stay here until Nyota gets back, if it's all the same.”

“I will be meditating.”

_“I_ will be looking at the books. _”_

“...Make yourself comfortable, then. Please know that your presence, however appreciated, is not currently necessary. I will not be done for at least an hour.”

Chapel didn't take that to heart, instead letting her gaze fall hungrily on the bookcase.

Ten minutes later, when Spock was deep into some sort of breathing exercises and Christine was deep into some twentieth century poetry, the doorbell rang. Christine looked up. Spock didn't so much as startle. Gently, she got up and placed the book on the seat. Before she could reach the door it hissed open on its own, revealing a very hassled looking Uhura.

“He's meditating,” Christine whispered in lieu of greeting.

Uhura threw her arms around the nurse's waist and squeezed. After a surprised moment, Christine returned the gesture.

“Sorry,” said Nyota, stepping back quickly. “I just. Thank the stars he's ok. I don't know what I'd do if you weren't here.”

“Probably called Scotty,” said Christine. “He's the local expert in drinking. Him and that Russian kid.”

“Not many people deal with Spock very well,” said Nyota. She looked past Christine to the Vulcan's peaceful form.

“He said he'd be at least an hour.”

“He didn't give you a precise estimate?”

“Not that I remember.”

“That's not good,” sighed Uhura. “I'll wait here with him. Thank you so much.”

“You're welcome.”

They stood there Chapel looking down and Uhura looking up. It took a minute for Chapel to realize what exactly she was doing and to slip out the door, blushing profusely, accompanied by Uhura's soft laughter.

This was starting to become A Thing.

Minutes later, she was knocking at Bones' apartment door.

***

“What.”

“Yes.”

“ _What._ ”

“I know.”

Chapel sprawled on one side of a very small coffee table, balancing about five PADDs on its surface.

Jim Kirk sat across from her, absorbing her every movement with that golden air of his. Christine realized that he was now privy to all of the day's proceedings, exempting Spock's soon to be ex-fiancé.

He squinted at her, as if realizing she was keeping something back. “You just spent the better part of an hour waxing lyrical about Uhura's laugh while I corrected your math. Please, elaborate. Spock was _what._ ”

Chapel daintily stacked one PADD on top of another. “I did write half of your history of medicine essay, so don't act like you got nothing out of the deal.”

“But Chapel, my poor heart,” said Kirk, “I don't know if it can bear any more of this unrequited love. I'll whither away and die-”

“I can't tell whether it's Bones starting to wear off on you, or you starting to wear off on Bones. Either way, it's abominable.”

“Don't try to change the subject.”

Chapel rolled her eyes. “Fine, so Spock was a little drunk.”

“A little?”

“A lot. I had to buy him cotton candy and a burger. I don't think he remembers eating the burger.”

“Aren't Vulcans-”

“Veggie burger.”

“Ah.”

“Yeah.”

“So, you know what this means.”

“Do I now?”

“We set up a little... double date.”

“And how exactly...”

“Well, you message Uhura and-”

The door hissed open ominously.

Bones stood on the threshold, clutching his shoulder bag. His eyes glinted maniacally.

“I could feel you plotting all the way down the hall,” he said, grinning in a way that would make the Cheshire Cat jealous. “Stop it.”

“Thank the stars,” muttered Chapel.

“Let me put down my bag first, then the real planning can start.”

Christine suddenly had the immense urge to bang her head on the table, perhaps to the point of unconsciousness.

“You'll get a concussion,” Bones said mildly.

Now that was just uncanny.


End file.
